


Callin' you from a thousand miles away

by arabellagaleotti



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anti Steve Rogers, Anti Team Cap, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Trailer, BAMF Tony Stark, Childhood Memories, Civil War Team Iron Man, Endgame, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Maria Stark's A+ Parenting, Memories, Parent Tony Stark, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Reflection, Self-Reflection, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-10-14 17:27:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 4,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17512835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arabellagaleotti/pseuds/arabellagaleotti
Summary: Somewhere, a billion miles away, flies a man though space.He has a life-time of hate, of love, of sorrow and damn if he ain't gonna use it.OR,Tony Stark sends more than a message to just Pepper, and not all of them are nice.





	1. Peter

Hey, kid.

 

I know you won't see this….but I’m gonna say some stuff anyway, relive my guilty conscience like the asshole I am.

 

You're _dead_.

 

And I feel bad.

 

People might wonder why I say that so...harshly, rip of the bandage and use the ‘d’ word.

 

I learnt, when my parents died, that nobody is gonna say it, so you should. The first few months after — hell, even now — they don't say ‘I’m sorry they died’, or ‘their deaths must be hard’ they say, ‘I’m sorry for your loss’, or ‘condolences.’

 

So I learnt you should pull it out every opportunity, shock them. The last thing they expect is for the grief-stricken son to say it. So I do.

 

Enough about me — see what I mean? Asshole. — I’ll talk about you, I guess.

 

You're just a kid. Not like Wanda’s a kid, not an adult hiding behind PTSD and innocence, but an _actual fucking kid._ Excuse my language, although you don't care, 'cause you're _dead._

 

And it’s my fault.

 

I shouldn't have brought you here. I killed you.

 

Nebula — that's the blue alien lady — she told me about the snap, about the stones.

 

I don't know how it works, I never will, but if it’s geographically? _I_ killed you. If it’s not...well, that doesn't help it either.

 

God, this is like pushing a thumb into a bruise.

 

You remind me of...well, me. I was smart, too. You're lucky, though. My parents pushed me through school, eager to have the prodigal son for the papers.

 

You get to grow up and go on field trips and….be a kid. I didn't, and I’m really happy that you do.

 

In time, like a normal, well-adjusted person, you would have graduated, and going into work — hopefully SI, although that won't happen now. You would have changed the world, Peter. I know it.

 

Huh.

 

I don't think I've called you by your name before.

 

It’s always spiderling, or kid, or underoos. I’ll call you Peter, now.

 

You deserve it.

 

At the start, I both loved and hated your hero worship.

 

I hated it, because Peter, if you knew the things I've done, you would not look up at me and call me ‘Mr. Stark’. I love it, because sure, you liked Iron-Man, but you liked Tony Stark as well. And not many people do.

 

In the eyes of the public I'm still the merchant of war, playboy, filthy-rich Tony Stark.

 

Well, I used to be.

 

I won't be tomorrow morning.

 

Was that a joke?

 

God, you can count on me for jests in near-death situations.

 

You could count on you, too. Do you know how many complaints I’ve gotten over you talking during fights? Too many, Peter. But I love it. It’s more than just a cheap trick and a cheesy one-liner, it’s _you._ Not boasting or bragging, just you, being Peter, chattering away _._

  


I think you would have liked this. Being in space. It’s wonderful, really. I feel like I should appreciate it more. I will, for you. Do you know how many of those dumb, punny T-shirts you could make?

 

Tony _Star_

 _Space-_ man?

 

That one's a bit weak, I’ll admit

 

God, the limits are endless.

 

I’m too tired to bother.

 

I'm sure you would. I can imagine it, us sitting here, you chattering away.   


The keyword here is _imagine_.

 

This is me, Peter. Saying goodbye, even if you won't hear it.  

 


	2. Yinsen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yinsen.

Yinsen.

 

I guess your plan worked. I escaped. I lived. You didn't.

 

It worked for a good ten years.

 

I guess my time just ran out.

 

Sometimes I think it ran out the second obie put out the hit on me.

 

You just gave me an extension. You know those games? Where you play an ad, but get 20 coins or whatever? The arc reactor was that ad. You were that ad.

 

I guess the ad always goes away, huh?

 

Sometimes I'm angry at you.

 

I mean, you _cut inside_ my chest.

 

You died. You _let yourself die_ , Yinsen.

 

Who was left to carry that guilt?

 

Me.

 

So yeah, sometimes I’m angry. Sometimes I'm thankful. Sometimes I'm just sad.

 

Mostly though, I’m sorry.

 

You told me not to waste my life.

 

I hope I did what you wanted.

 

I'm not sure that the parameters are, but I hope I succeeded.

 

I became Iron-Man,

I pioneered SI further,

I saved the world a couple times,

I loved.

 

That good enough?

 

I wish I met you in Bern. I wish I did a lot of things different that night. I wish I met your family, too. They must have been nice.

 

Remember when you asked me, if I had any family?

 

_The man with nothing, yet everything._

 

I never had everything, Yinsen. Not after, not before.

 

I've always been flawed goods, and nobody wants to be family with flawed goods.

 

It's my DNA. I push people away. I can't help it.

 

But then again, I didn't push you away, did I?

 

I hope not.

 

I don't think so.

 

You did more for me than even Rhodey.

 

Thank you, Yinsen.

 

I’m excited to meet your family.


	3. Happy

Happy

 

Hi, Hap.

 

Remember how we met? 

 

You saved me from getting mugged. 

 

I don't know if I ever thanked you for that, truly. 

 

It was some shady New York corner, I don't even know what I was doing there, and I guess someone recognized me. 

 

I got jumped, pulled into an alley, threatened with a gun. 

 

The bastard nearly took my wallet until you burst out of the woodwork and beat him to bits.  

 

I laughed and called you some stupid name, compared you some stupid children’s cartoon I don't remember watching but must have. 

 

You introduced yourself, made some remark back, and started to go on your merry way. 

 

I caught up to you down the street and offered you the job. 

 

You took it, and you have saved me so many times since then, not all from muggers, not all from super-villains. You've saved me from myself, a friend (that I pay, but still) that never leaves me, even when Rhodey’s deployed ad Pepper’s away and I'm alone. 

 

You’ve been there since the start, and I can't help but thank you for that. Not many people have been, I think it’s just you and Rhodey at this point. 

 

You made it into a hall of fame, finally. So what if it’s not WWE? 

 

You’ll always be the best in my heart, Hap. 

 

Hey, we’ll have another round again sometime, huh? Just you and me, old-school. Fifty on me, forehead of security. 


	4. Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I hope I do this justice.

 

Steve, you know what?

 

Fuck you.

 

Fuck you for all of it,

 

Leaving me in Siberia, that's the obvious one, and fuck you for that,

 

But fuck you for taking my team and ripping it in half,

 

For refusing to listen to me, even when told, asked you,  _ begged  _ you to listen.

 

Fuck you for running away.

 

Fuck you for making me bring Peter in, because that kid  _ should not _ be dead right now, and I'm allowed to blame someone.

 

Fuck you for destroying that airport.

 

Fuck you for going on the run.

 

Fuck you for leaving me to deal with your mess.

 

Fuck you for not trusting me.

 

Most importantly, fuck  _ me _ for trusting  _ you. _

  
  


Do you know how much my father went on about you?

 

All of my childhood, every happy memory I have with my father, it was about you. Him telling me about you, or giving me a little action figure for Christmas one year. 

 

Yeah, that right, Tony Stark had a Captain America action figure.

 

You talk about what a monster I am, but  _ you made me that way.  _ They say childhood trauma can affect adult life; well, you ripped apart my family like you did my team. You tore them in two and then acted surprised when I turned into...me. 

 

Dad spent every other second thinking about you, he left for months at a time, scouring the icy wastelands where you slept. Mama cried herself to sleep every night. I know because I would sleep outside her door and leave in the morning before she got up.

 

You made me, Rogers. Don't forget that when you're damming me to hell. 

 

I'll see you there.

 


	5. Mama

 

Ciao, mama.

 

Do you remember those days, the ones where I would find you on the piano, and we would play?

 

Even if you don't, I do.

 

It was one of those old pianos, the ones with ivory keys and wood from a thousand-year-old oak, or something.

 

You used to tell me these elaborate stories about it. How it had gotten to you, where it was made. I'm pretty sure it was fake. In fact, I’m almost 100%, since I doubt the same piano that _Da Vinci_ owned made it onto the _Titanic_ , survived, was played by the _queen_ and was given to you by your grandfather.

 

Only the last bit is true, I'd bet. But still...I loved them. They were my bible, those days, when you would teach me to play and tell me how to smile so the press don't see underneath, so _no one_ sees underneath. I'd pray every-night, when I went to sleep, I'd hum the psalms; those songs you taught me.

 

Funny, I've never considered myself religious, but I guess I might have been. 

 

I'm sorry, for what really happened the last time I saw you. Without B.A.R.F., without all of the scenarios I've dreamt up over the years, the truth is a still-drunk son angry and reckless and alone.

 

I swore at father, I didn't kiss you goodbye, I was stupid.

 

I was stupid a lot back then, for a genius. I’m stupid a lot now.

 

Still, I can dream of it going the way those hallowed afternoons did, slow, sweet and with you next to me, but it’s only a dream.

 

_When I drift off, I’ll dream of you._

 

I think you would have liked Pepper.

 

She...grounds me.

 

We've had some ups and downs, like you and Howard (to say the least). But I love her, mama.

 

I dreamt I had a kid, you know.

 

If I had a kid, I'd tell it to be proud.

 

I’d tell it to bare its teeth in a snarl disguised as a smile.

 

I’d teach it all your tricks that you taught me.

 

I’d teach it Italian, and the piano, and how to sing.

 

We’d go on holiday and visit all the places you brought me,

 

Italy, _of course_ ; Rome and Venice, Naples, Milan...Sicily, where you grew up. Even more than that! Greece, Paris, Budapest, Japan...Everywhere you went and everywhere you never did.

 

I’d name it after you, Maria for a girl and maybe Mateo for a boy, after your brother.

 

I think you’d like that.

 

Then again, sometimes I feel like I never knew you.

 

I don't know if I did.

 

You died too soon.

 

I'm sorry, mama.

 

_Grazie._

 

It was just a dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! 
> 
> so i just got tumblr, if you want the link to my main, here it is: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/possiblyderangedpenguinstuff 
> 
> i also have a writing/poetry one: https://www.tumblr.com/search/i-spilled-some-ink
> 
> follow me?
> 
> thanks for reading!
> 
> -arabellagaleotti
> 
> (PS. idk how to do links so tell me if it works?)


	6. Clint

We were friends, once. 

 

You reminded me of me. Not me now, me  _ then.  _ Back when I was a kid, and still had a little bit of innocence, maybe. Happiness? 

 

I don't know.

 

I was envious, at first. You were so... _joyful_ , taking pleasure from the simple things, easily excited, living the childhood I never had. 

 

Then, I got over myself. I regained some of that innocence, happiness, whatever you want to call it, when I was with you. Playing pranks, laughing, training. It only ever lasted a minute or two, but it was enough. 

 

You were my friend, Clint. 

 

Do you know how many people can say that? ‘I am Tony Stark’s friend’. Not one-night-stand, not worker, not business partner. It’s a rarer sentence than  you would have thought. 

 

You had that. 

 

You had that, and you stabbed me the back. 

 

Well, no. 

 

You just chose the good captain. 

 

I've already had words with him. 

 

I don't know why people leave me.

 

I can wonder all I want, but the answer will not reveal itself to me in a flurry of mystical knowledge. 

 

It’s just a fact of life, I guess. 

 

I don't really know why you did it. You were happy, right? In retirement?

 

I thought you were. 

 

It's my fault. I didn't check up on you enough, I set you up and then left you. Naturally you would reach out to Cap, and then he was talking about the Accords and—

 

It doesn't matter.

 

Anyway, bye, Clint. 

 

It was fun being your friend. 

 

I'm sorry it didn't work out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is a bit short but i'm not THAT familiar with clint soooo yea
> 
> thanks for reading!
> 
> -arabellagaleotti


	7. Obie

Obie.

 

This one isn't a thanks, you dickhead.

 

I never really got to talk to you, I realise now. I never got to ask why.

 

You...saved me, Obie. You saved me so many times I thought you were goddamn Jesus Christ, taking the sin off my shoulders…. until you tried to condemn me.

 

Until you tried to kill me.

 

Why?

 

Was the boozy playboy not working for you? Did you get sick of the bad press?

 

I got you your weapons, I worked and made and did it all. There was no problem. You were already sneaking stuff past me. You could probably still be doing it now, but you got greedy.

 

That really sums it up, doesn't it? _You got greedy._

 

Do you know what Raza said, once, “ _you paid us to kill a prince with trinkets.”_

 

I was a prince. You were the king, if you really wanted, you could have done so much more. But that was the problem, wasn't it?

 

It wasn't entirely greed, it was frear, too. Fear growing since my father had a child and a heir, since your partnership with my father had an expiration date.

 

You never had the vision.

 

Not like me.

 

Not like father.

 

You knew, eventually, I’d wake up. I’d take control of the company, and I’d edge you out.

 

I did wake up, and I really should thank you, on second thought.

 

You _made_ me.

 

You made Iron-Man, you made your downfall, you made someone who wouldn't sit by anymore.

 

And guess what, Obie?

 

You made a king.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so i really like this one but it's kinda short, sorry!
> 
> also i got a tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/possiblyderangedpenguinstuff
> 
> please follow! if you want! free will, yay!
> 
> -arabellagaleotti


	8. Howard

 

Dad

 

Hey, dad. ‘Your greatest creation’ here. 

 

God, I hate that. 

 

I hate  _ you _ . 

 

You fucked me up. You ruined me. 

 

Do you know who I could have been? 

 

Who I am is not yours to call great. 

 

Sure, you had a hand in making me, but in  _ hardly _ the best way. 

 

You’ll be happy to know I didn't fuck you over. 

 

I could have ruined your flawless, WW2 reputation — the one that puts you in classrooms everywhere, in uni halls and the admiration of the masses. 

 

I could have done it with three easy, spiteful words. 

 

_ He beat me.  _

 

It wouldn't even have to be true — it is — but it wouldn't have to be. 

 

With those three words, I could have blotted out your name forever. 

 

But I find a better sort of pleasure in how your name is not whited-out out from the history books, it’s just under a footnote:

 

Tony Stark’s.

 

I remember all the times you told me I would never be better than you, than the man who created  _ Captain America _ , but you were wrong. 

 

Now, you are a relic, the father of Tony Stark, and I am not only the son of Howard Stark. 

 

I am better. 

 

And they know that. 

 

So fuck you and thank you,  _ dad,  _ you alcoholic, self-serving, drunkard, abusive asshole. 

 

I am my own greatest creation. 

  
  



	9. Jarvis

Hey, JARV. 

 

I guess this one is especially useless. You're not even alive — even more than mama or Howard or Yinsen. You were never truly alive, as much as I try, you can't make a soul. I'm not gonna see you on the cosmic highway. 

 

I’ll tell you about it, though. That’ll be an interesting update. 

 

Apart from your lack of a soul, _ you are  _ alive, or you were. 

 

You were — are the most advanced AI on the planet. Nobody will beat your record for a long time, I reckon. 

 

That's a bit bigheaded of me, isn't it?

 

But it’s true. You were always good at calling me out on things like that.

 

You felt things, I  believe, really truly. More than me, even, at my worst moments. You morphed from your original code on that crappy computer into something...beautiful. 

 

Something With thoughts and feeling and more of a moral compass than I ever did. 

 

You...DUM-E and U and Butterfingers, you are my greatest creations, more than the arc or the suit or Stark Tower, or even me, like I said to dad (long story). Tell the bots, would’ja? 

 

One last joke, one last joke, one last message, one last order:

 

_ I’ll miss you guys.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one is short, i've been superrr busy lately.


	10. Peggy Carter

 

Hi, Auntie Peggy. 

 

Did you know Steve’s back?

 

That's a stupid question. 

 

I'm sorry for Civil War. 

 

I tried, I hope you know that. I really did. 

 

I never told Steve that I knew you, that you called me ‘Duckie’ and I called you ‘Auntie’

 

I wish I did. Maybe it would have changed something, maybe it would have kept the team together. 

 

Maybe not. 

 

You know, I was at a SHIELD meeting, and your name got brought up. 

 

It was this absolute  _ idiot,  _ who picked up and said _ — I kid you not — _ “You mean Cap’s girl? She didn’t do much after the war, did she?”

 

You are more than Steve Rogers. 

 

You are Peggy motherfucking Carter, and you are a distinguished member of the military, a founding member of SHIELD and a magnificent spy, you have saved the world, you have accomplished so much, and didn't give a damn who said you couldn't.”

 

I told this to that poor SHIELD agent, and apparently SHIELD was not aware of our connection. 

 

They are now. 

 

I didn't go to your funeral. 

 

I..couldn't. Sorry. 

 

Steve went. He made out with Sharon.

 

Yeah, right? The bastard, all you do for him, and this is what he does. Your niece, get some class, huh Rogers?

 

Okay, I’ll tone down the outrage. 

 

….Still. 

  
  


Thanks, Auntie.


	11. Edwin/Ana Jarvis

 

I haven't thought about you two in a long time. 

 

I’m sorry for that. 

 

I think I block out trauma. 

 

I went to see a therapist, once. 

 

It's what she said after I couldn't recall most of my childhood. 

 

I remember you two, though. 

 

Ana’s smile, 

Her  Kürtőskalács, made from scratch, sweet and  _ perfect  _ in my mouth . 

Her laugh, big and booming. 

How she’d sit next to the fireplace, sewing needlepoint or fixing another of his jackets, muttering about how he’d ripped it  _ again _ , honestly Anatal, you're going to be the death of me

 

She was Hungarian, Jewish, and liked her beer stout and food homey, spicy. She was a tailor. She was a gardener. She was...brilliant. Warm and cosy and the personality equivalent of a warm meal infront of golden firelight. 

 

I remember Jarvis, too. 

His voice, cultured and British. 

How he’d take me for a cheeseburger when I was sad, look at me over the sticky vinyl counter of the diner we'd go to, where nobody cared enough to look at my face and the paparazzi wouldn't bother with. 

Him painting, hand poised over the canvas. I never really understood art, but I think I would have liked it, if Howard hasn't pulled me away from the easel and towards the workshop. 

 

When Ana died, I think I might have lost a year. I was nine, and have next to no memory of anything. Dates are blurry, but I think she died May 21st, 1979. 

I remember the funeral, bits and pieces, it was quiet, and Jarvis’s hand on my shoulder was the only constant. The casket was closed, plain and undecorated. They said prayers in Hebrew and Yiddish and Hungarian. I didn’t know the words, and it made me feel worse. 

  
  


You know, there’s this new treatment for breast cancer SI is thinking of supporting. 

I hope they do.

Maybe it can save someone else’s Ana. 

 

When you died, I only lost 6 months. 

 

Coincidentally, it took me 6 months to make JARVIS’s original code.

 

I was so happy when I managed to pull enough soundbites for your voice. It might have been one of the best days in my life, the first time I uploaded JARVIS, the first time he called me sir, the first time he laughed at me, made jokes like you used to; wry, sarcastic. 

Hopefully you would like J. 

 

You were my parents more than Howard and Maria, I think. 

 

Köszönöm.


	12. Natasha

 

Hey, Nat.   
  


I'm not really sure what to say to you. 

 

I mean, the obvious comes to mind, betrayal, Team Cap, yadda yadda. 

 

But….I'm  _ tired _ , Natasha. I really am. I think you understand, better than anyone. 

 

You lied to me and stolen from me and spied on me over the years. As Natalie Rushman, as Natasha Romanoff — don't think I don't know about you and Fury in Avengers Tower. As Black Widow, sticking a needle in my neck (fine, that doesn't count, you saved my life.) As a Rogue, electricity that I gave you crackling across your fists. As many things, you’ve hurt me. 

 

I'm not mad. 

 

As I said, just tired. 

 

You what makes me feel mad?

 

The fact that I don't know if you’re even  _ alive _ , if you survived. 

 

What if I'm just a crazy man, talking to himself?

 

I'm a crazy man even if you’re alive. 

 

You would have laughed at that, I think. 

 

I don’t know much anymore.

 

You know, I thought about killing myself in Afghanistan. Thought it might be easier, kill myself before they kill me. 

 

It would have been ridiculously easy, even if i wasn't half-suicidal most of the time. Sharp bits of metal everywhere, enough rope to make a noose, fucking  _ weapons _ , a fire. 

 

But there were people waiting for me to come back. 

 

So I came back. 

 

You didn’t come back. Not even when I needed you more than ever. 

 

Remember when we’d go and sit in the dark, drink and drink even as you looked at with me with those eyes that whispered  _ ‘alcoholic _ ,’ and I looked at you with eyes that whispered,  _ ‘anything new?’  _ and you blinked. 

 

I think I might know more about you than anyone else in the world. You told me about the handcuffs, and the beds, and the little girls who went to sleep but never woke up. You told me me about the color of blood, as if I didn't know it myself. You told me about so many things, Russia, Budapest, your childhood before the red — what you can remember of it, anyway.

 

You gave me these things, these secrets to hold against my chest like my arc, to let them curl around my heart and lay there, among the shattered graveyard of my ribs. You gave me them, not as a spy, not to manipulate me or trick me, but as a  _ girl _ , a girl from Russia with just as much red in her ledger as me, a girl who saw a tired old man (maybe not so old, not so tired back then) and gave him the closest thing she had to a heart. 

 

My heart might have been ripped to shreds, pulled from my chest and replaced with metal, but I won't let yours be.


	13. Rhodey

Hey, Rhodes. 

 

I'm not really sure what to say. 

 

I mean, this… isn’t a usual kind of thing. There isn’t a guide of how to tell your best friend that you’re lost again. That you’re not coming back again.

 

(When have I ever been usual?)

 

I'm sorry?

 

I should start off with that, right?

 

I'm sorry for the shit I've dragged you though over the years, from MIT to my parents, to the twenty years after; boozing and fucking and being a dick. And now, I'm a superhero or whatever they call me, and I'm still fucking shit up. Like your legs. That was my fault. I'm sorry. I have some half-finished specs on JARVIS’s server, they won't be as good if Cho or someone does them, but they’re better than your ones now. 

 

I'm sending these out to everyone. Even dead people. That's fucked up, right?

 

I mean, not carbon-copies. They’re different. You're special, Honey-bear. 

 

Remember how you got that nickname? It was when we first met, the first Physics seminar of the year, Mrs. Josephs' class. I sat next to you, the only African-American kid on campus, and you didn't ask. You didn't ask me how rich I was or if you could get funding, or a million other things that people ask me. You just smiled, handed me a pen before I even asked.  I said, _ “thanks, Honey-bear”, _ and that was it. Tony and Rhodey. Rhodey and Tony. RhodeyTony. TonyRhodey. Made to be. 

  
  


...I'm rambling. You know how I ramble. 

 

So, in short, in conclusion, you're my best friend, you will always be my best friend, and thank you. 

 

You found me once, but a desert is different to space, I think. It’s a lot colder. You can’t find me again. I know you’ll still try.

 

I’ll see you around, Rhodes. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so a lot of people have been asking, so:
> 
> I am planning on doing a continuation of this story, everyone seeing their messages/finding out/meeting Tony again. Don't worry. I have stuff written up already, and it's gonna be lit. 
> 
> thanks for reading!!


	14. Harley

Hey, kid. 

 

How’s life? You still working on that potato gun?

 

I hope so. 

 

As much as I criticised, it was actually pretty good.  

 

You know, when we first met, they thought I was dead, now I assume they do again. 

 

Normally when people chase after giant alien doughnut spaceships into space they don't come back. 

 

For once I'm not the exception. 

 

This isn't really how I thought I’d go out, you know. 

 

I thought it would be fast and dangerous, a spike of adrenaline, a sacrifice play. 

 

Not...this. 

 

Not slow and aching and almost peaceful. 

 

Not drifting off to dream, not being pulled into sleep when the time comes.

 

I'm almost disappointed. Where's my blaze of glory?

 

You would like a blaze of glory, I think. Maybe not Extremis-level blaze, but still. 

  
  


I'm sorry I didn't drop in as much as i could have. 

 

I was scared. 

 

I'm sorry you didn't meet Peter; you would have liked him. 

 

Too late now.

 

He’s dead, and you might be too. 

 

I'm sorry, kid, because you saw me at my worst and you gave me a Dora watch and helped me, and in return I blasted off and left you with a dad who won the lottery and a mom working at a diner. 

 

So, sorry. 

 

You’ll do great things with that potato gun, Harls. I know you will. 

 

See ya around, I’ll even let you ride in the suit. 

 

(Maybe.)


	15. Bucky

 

Uh, hey, I guess.

 

I...I forgive you.

 

Fully.

 

No residue, no anger, nothing.

 

I hope you forgive me.

 

I know you didn't mean to do it, that it wasn't your choice, still — it _hurt_ . It hurt _so fucking bad_ , you don't understand.

 

It wasn't even you, really.

 

I thought he killed her. I thought he was drunk — everyone did. It was no secret, everyone knew he was an alcoholic.

 

It made sense.

 

Now I’m — I’m learning that it _doesn't_.

 

It’s kinda hard.

* * *

 

 

I, uh, I made a flying car.

 

It’s stupid, but Steve — he told me once, about how you guys went to the first expo, how amazed you were at the car.

 

Howard never finished it, but I did, when I was...god, 28?

 

Seems so long ago now.

 

I dug up the blueprints, fitted them into an old 20’s car body.

 

It’s real Bonnie and Clyde.

 

And it works! I flew off a cliff, right over the ocean. Ty was with me, and he was just so _amazed—_ oh, Ty was a...friend. Yeah. Kinda my 'Steve', if that makes sense. Childhood best friend, growing up together, ectera, ectera. You know the story. 

 

Anyway, it works.

 

When I get pronounced dead, you’ll get it. That’ll be a surprise for my executor.

 

I hope you like it.

 

Not really sure what you’ll do, whizz around Wakanda or something, but I’m sure you’ll have fun, whatever it is. Shuri'll like it, (she'll probably upgrade it, but whatever.)

 

I'm sorry I never got to really know you, outside Aunt Peg's bedtime stories, and Howard's ramblings.

 

I think we would have gotten on.

 

Too late now.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> want to see anyone? request down below!
> 
> also, follow me on tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/possiblyderangedpenguinstuff

**Author's Note:**

> okay, so i have a bUNCH of these written up already, so updates should be fairly fast. 
> 
> all the tags will be updated as i post, and pretty much everyone in the MCU will turn up. if you wanna see anyone in particular, comment below!
> 
> thats all for now, thanks for reading!
> 
> -arabellagaleotti


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